


seemingly insignificant

by egare



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence, Statement Fic(s), and some Violence Against Minors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egare/pseuds/egare
Summary: Mrs. Tatiana Valentine recording, regarding her religious beliefs and her husband’s side job. Recording date 25th of March, 2012, by Gertrude Robinson. Mrs. Valentine, whenever you’re ready.
Kudos: 3





	seemingly insignificant

_[click]_

**GERTRUDE**

Mrs. Tatiana Valentine recording, regarding inheritances and her husband. Recording date 25th of March, 2012, by Gertrude Robinson. Mrs. Valentine, whenever you’re ready.

**TATIANA**

There are so many places where I can begin. Perhaps in the fields I grew up in, quiet and large. The first time I went out to sea, maybe, where the ocean greeted me like a grandchild that had been kept away for too long. But no, I think it would be best to start… well, at the beginning.

People didn’t really understand how my mother and father got along. While she wasn’t taking care of me, my mother often spent her days considering her insignificance in the world; my father was the complete opposite, always making these little steps into other people’s lives despite the fact that in the end nothing would ever really… be remembered. And yet the two of them were so inexplicably in love that it was almost like the only thing that could ever separate them could be their deaths. I like to think that when they die, they’ll have an afterlife of a giant expanse of land where my mother will gaze out for the rest of eternity, and my father will plant flowers.

I grew up on a small farm half an hour outside of Calfa, Moldova; my family was distant enough from everything for my mother to enjoy but close enough that my father took me to the surrounding villages to talk to other children. I liked spending time with my mother, more— the children were always too curious, asked too many questions. With my mother I could simply exist. Three months after my fourteenth birthday we moved to Markham, Washington, in the United States. I spent the rest of my childhood growing up by Johns River and watching my mother sail out straight toward the Pacific for months on end. In Calfa she had never left for long, sitting in clearings for only a few hours, a day at most; but with the whole ocean at her disposal, I began to see her less and less.

When I had finished high school, I wanted to continue my education and went to university in New York. Looking back, it was likely an attempt at revenge for my mother essentially leaving her family for the sea. Now I know that my mother didn’t particularly care one way or another where I went, as she knew that she was not the most important part of anyone’s life and was rather content with the fact. My father just wanted me to be happy, and didn’t put up a fight. And so I found myself going to New York to study psychology, no one in my family arguing against the decision. At first I was worried that there would be too many people, not enough space for me and nowhere to run to when I was overwhelmed— though I didn’t exactly find comfort in the vast like my mother did, I had developed something akin to claustrophobia due to spending most of my life in open fields and large spaces. 

But New York was… perfect. There were so many people to get lost in; you were just _there_ , one person in a sea of many. Nothing you did mattered and no one ever gave you a second glance. Where everyone in Calfa knew me, where most people in Markham thought me weird, New York accepted me into the mass of her millions of residents and let me be one face in the crowd, unable to be pinpointed, never sticking out or important. I...

I don’t know exactly how I got into my… career. I was studying psychology and always wanted to help people, I think, but therapists just seemed to have the job of telling everyone they were important and remarkable, and it left a sour taste in my mouth every time I said it during class. My career now isn’t one of the most respectable, sure, but this was an area that lacked good people and it’s something I enjoyed. Something I still enjoy. 

_[a beat of silence]_

**GERTRUDE**

What exactly is it that you do, Mrs. Valentine?

**TATIANA**

I’m a dominatrix. Most of the time, my clients come to me hoping to be reminded of their place in the world. I would inflict pain on them and shout at them about their insignificance. Afterwards, I made sure they ate and drank, brought them back from wherever their minds had wandered off to, and would send them out so I had time to get ready for my next session. I was known in New York as the domme who didn’t take the same customer twice— I think that in and of itself drew a lot of people in, clients liking the fact that I didn’t need them or their money. It just… reminded them of how irrelevant they were to other people. They could be replaced with another person, another wallet.

I had actually met Elijah through work. A client had wanted both of us and was willing to pay extra, and we had met up over coffee to figure out how the session was going to go and if we meshed well together. We worked perfectly. Where I was focused heavily on what could be considered domination of the mind, he focused on the more physical aspects.

It was in those off-hours, when he taught me about temperature play and cooked dinner while I finished up my dissertation for my Master’s degree and commented on the benefits of thesauruses, that I both fell in love and became irrevocably horrified of him. Inflicting pain came to him as naturally as breathing, sometimes. More natural, as there were times when I would lay down with my ear upon his chest and realize there was no heartbeat to hear. When we got engaged we had promised each other to not bring clients home, but some nights I would return at midnight to the sound of screaming and groans. At first, I thought he had just lied about his clients. But the bed was always clean and no one ever showed up unannounced, so I didn't worry too much about his little secret. I hadn’t considered that it could be anything else.

Elijah was actually the one to bring up his religion first. He told me it was rather obscure, I told him mine was the same. He told me that he worshiped through the infliction of physical pain, I told him mine was pretty similar. He mentioned that the god he worshiped was not exactly a god, and the look in his eyes made me realize that we were more alike than I previously thought. I gave him the name of my deity and there was relief on his face, as he returned his own. Elijah called it the Desolation. The manifestation of the fear of pain and of loss. _People often focus on the flames of the Desolation_ , he told me, _they often forget why people are afraid of fire in the first place._

He promised he wouldn’t hurt me. I knew that he was telling the truth. We got married six months later, no reception and no one’s eyes on us as we exchanged vows and rings in the middle of Central Park.

I hope I didn't startle you by my revelation of being aware of the Entities. I don't think there's anything about me you should be particularly frightened of; I’m entirely human, after all. I haven’t murdered anyone. I’ve… heard about what you do, to some of the ones who hurt other people. But I’ve never hurt anyone who wasn’t willing. I’m not like the— what do they call each other— Avatars?

**GERTRUDE**

That is one word to describe them, yes.

**TATIANA**

Well like I said, I’m not like that. I just wanted to give you my statement, and then go home to my family.

**GERTRUDE**

And your husband?

**TATIANA**

Not someone to worry about.

**GERTRUDE**

Then please continue, Mrs. Valentine

**TATIANA**

My mother admitted to me, once, that she had killed a man. She wanted a new way to worship the Boundless, and it wasn’t until she stared at the body of the drowned man she held in her hands that she decided it wasn’t really for her. She was content with simply admiring how astronomical the universe around her was, and how completely trivial she was in comparison. The Boundless accepted her because of beliefs and devotion she had long before she learned about its existence. And when I shouted at my clients about how unimportant they were, about how insignificant their existence was, I felt a contentedness settle in my chest that suggested I was accepted for the very same reason.

But Elijah needed to inflict pain. Eventually, his main job wasn’t enough for him. He started killing— only people that deserved it, he stressed to me. He thrived off of both the pain he inflicted to his victims and the pain that the families felt after losing them. The ones that hid how horrible they were felt the best to him, their families never thankful a monster was put down. I didn’t particularly care about their deaths, if I can be honest. They were one soul out of billions, and in the long run it wouldn’t matter if he killed a person here or there. 

It wasn’t until our son Matteo was born that I was ever really worried about Elijah. I had essentially retired by then, using my degree and working in forensic psychology so I could be… a good mother, for my son. Not someone he would be ashamed of. We moved to London when he was born, Elijah wanting to be closer to the rest of his family. The first few years passed by normally, but he… he kept looking at our son wrong. Sometimes he would let Matteo stand too close to the stove. Sometimes the water in the bathtub was just a bit too hot to be comfortable. Elijah bought a lighter, one day, and played with it for hours before I eventually snapped at him to put it away. He did.

I was sitting on the roof that night. I don’t really want to think what would have happened if I hadn’t been awake to smell the smoke. I climbed back in through the window and followed the smell all the way to Matteo’s room, where I saw Elijah standing over our child with his lighter in his hand. 

I understand that in the universe, one person is so incredibly unimportant. There was no need to bother myself with trying to protect someone that would die in, what, less than a hundred years? Compared to the billions our earth has, a person was less than a blink of an eye, nothing worth being remembered. But that didn’t stop me from digging a dagger into Elijah’s head and putting the fire out, whispering to Matteo that he would be okay as I removed his father’s head from his body. That weekend I took my son and got on the first flight to Washington. I handed Matteo to his grandfather and took my mother and a duffel out into the Pacific. I dumped Elijah’s head and body two hundred miles apart in the ocean, and we got back to London in time for our Mommy and Me class on Tuesday.

Matteo’s ten now. He keeps looking at me the same way Elijah once looked at him. I don't think he means to, but I always have a fire extinguisher on hand, just in case.

**GERTRUDE**

Statement ends.

_[click]_


End file.
